


Notes from Nowhere

by I_See_The_Stars_15



Series: The Tales of Terror [3]
Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Disappearances, Gen, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27302941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_See_The_Stars_15/pseuds/I_See_The_Stars_15
Summary: Eleven Days.They were gone for eleven days, but did they ever really return? What happened to Team ZIT while they were gone?
Relationships: Team ZIT friendship
Series: The Tales of Terror [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1993450
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	Notes from Nowhere

Tango and Impulse were proud of the trick-or-treat house they managed to pull off just a few days before halloween. There were a few mishaps with the redstone but beyond that the quaint hut was something incredible. Zedaph had been their first official playtester, and the three entered the building with wide grins. They expected to be quickly done, two minutes at the most.

They didn't come back out.

There were no sounds of explosions, no messages of death. There were no marks to prove that something had gone wrong but surely something _did_ go wrong. How else would they have disappeared?

Perhaps disappear was the wrong word to use. The code revealed they were still in the world yet no matter how far the hermits scoured for them they were nowhere to be found.

The hermits were nervous. They trusted their friends but perhaps not enough since they found themselves worried when none of the three showed a sign of their existence. Or perhaps, more accurately, they trusted them _too much_ to know how unusual it was for the three to vanish from their radars without a trace or warning.

Eleven days they searched, a week and a half. A week and a half of nervous glances at their communicators, of tense silence in the shopping district. People came to their hut to see what they did, but no one dared try their game when that was the last thing they were known to do. Looks of admiration were non-existent. Excitement was foreign to them. There was only unease lingering in their eyes as they stared at but never stepped into the house that could have swallowed their friends whole.

It was a shame Impulse and Tango's hard work had gone to waste, but it was not like they were there to be disappointed in the lack of players.

Eleven days passed, and on the twelfth the mystery was solved. The three returned to the shopping district, alive and in the flesh.

Eleven days passed, and on the twelfth a new mystery was opened. The three returned clutching each other close. There were no visible injuries but their skin was paler except for under their eyes where it almost seemed like bruises were forming. They looked around and yet never at the hermits who greeted them. When they were wrapped in a hug they turned as still as stone.

The hermits wanted to know: what happened to the three?

Their question went unanswered.

The changes became more obvious the more time passed. The hermits could never find one without the other two flanking them, that is, if they managed to see them anywhere else except their bases. Projects were left abandoned and war was forgotten as the hermits scrambled to make sure they were alright.

The three grew thinner but they refused to eat. They grew weaker but refused to be separated for even a moment to be given a check-up. Each time the hermits forcefully brought them back from the brink of death, they asked about what happened, begged for an answer so they knew what to do.

Each time the three were forcefully brought back from the brink of death, they gave no reply.

Eleven days they were gone, and on the twelfth they thought they returned but perhaps they were still lost. The three were but shells of themselves, caricatures dialed to the lowest of humour.

There was a distinct lack of humour now in the server. To start anything felt wrong when there was still an open question waiting to be answered. A question that grew heavier the longer time passed.

One and a half months after those one and a half weeks they finally got an answer, or at least the closest to an answer they'll ever be given.

A note, sequestered in the leaves of one of Impulse's half-finished trees in his seemingly abandoned greenhouse. A note, found lying on top of one of Zedaph's unfinished contraptions in a desolate cave. A note, pinned to the wall of Tango's now-dull and dusty looking storage room.

Three notes covered in chicken scratches and nonsensical scribbles, except for one word written on top of it all in the same place, in the same style. A shared scar almost, glaring back at the hermits.

The word was _'fire.'_

No meaning, no context. An answer that led to more questions, a solution that led to more problems. This time, the three were not there to give any clues. This time, the three disappeared with their codes seemingly erased. Almost as though the world forgot of the three living ghosts that roamed its surface for 50 days.

Except one fact could not be erased from the hermits' minds, even as time passed. One fact could not be forgotten, not when it chilled them to the bone.

The handwriting did not belong to anyone they knew.

**Author's Note:**

> What happened? Where did they go? Like the hermits, we'll never know.
> 
> Happy Halloween/Samhain everyone! Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this short ficlet of mine!


End file.
